


Trust

by lacemonster



Series: Lacemonster's Gifts [4]
Category: DCU (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: First Time Blow Jobs, Forced, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Manipulation, Molestation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Timeline Shenanigans, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, predatory behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 04:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20303206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacemonster/pseuds/lacemonster
Summary: A request for Eobard/Barry, in which Eobard is Barry's chemistry mentor and preys on himBarry is a high school student who has been passed off from foster home to foster home. Dr. Eobard Thawne is a chemistry professor at a university in Central City who takes a special interest in Barry. After months of exchanging messages, in the midst of a terrible lightning storm, Barry decides to visit Eobard at his house.





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rotsq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotsq/gifts).

> Thank you so much to Rotsquad for requesting this fic and giving me permission to post it! I had so much fun with it. I had an idea where Eobard uses time travel to earn Barry's trust somewhere on the backburner, so this really kicked my ass into writing something. I loved your ideas and talking Eobard/Barry with you.
> 
> Anyways, in case you couldn't tell, this fic deals with a lot of really dark themes. Please be mindful of the tags. Anyone complaining about the content that was tagged will be ignored and have their comment deleted.

The rain was coming down hard. Lightning loomed on the horizon and heavy drops pelted against the bus window in a continuous roar. Barry pulled the backpack on his lap closer to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around it. He could feel his nerves spiking. He should have arranged his visit with the professor over winter vacation instead of summer. He should have known better—summer and Central City was a recipe for thunderstorms. 

_At least it’s not too far_, Barry tried to tell himself, until his cynicism sunk in. He tried not to look at the dark clouds outside. They just made his heart ache more.

His stop was approaching. Barry had no choice but to brace himself to run. When the doors swung open, a gust of summer air rushed him. He hopped off the bus, landing in a puddle that flooded his shoes. _Ignore it. Keep moving. _He held his bookbag over his head, futilely trying to shield himself from the downpour, but the furious winds tossed rain at him from every angle. He was soaked in seconds. 

The clouds made it too dark to see the addresses, but he thought he recognized a house from a photo he once received, so Barry pushed open the gate and hurried up the steps.

Under the shelter of the patio overhanging, Barry was safe from the downpour. A wave of relief passed over him, but the feeling was temporary. He raised his hand to knock on the door, then stopped. 

His breaths were shaky—not from running, but from nerves. He felt the heaviness of his drenched bangs that crossed his forehead, the fat drops of rain that rolled down his face. He was a mess. His gaze lowered, self-doubt gnawing at his stomach. It seemed wrong that the first time he saw this person who he admired—this wonderfully kind and patient and talented person who could have been making discoveries in the field of chemistry instead of messaging and mentoring some dumb high school kid—was going to see him like this. That the very first impression of Barry Allen was going to be some kid who was soaking wet and dripping all over the floors.

Barry’s entire body seemed to sink. A dull heat burned on his cheeks. He should have accepted the car ride that was offered in the email, but after everything the professor had already done for him, he thought it would have been better to not burden the man any further. The idea of meeting him was nervewracking in any situation, of course, but the idea of being a nuisance was unbearable.

Before Barry could decide what to do, the door creaked open. His head jerked up. 

Dr. Eobard Thawne stood there, looking surprised. Barry moved his mouth to say something, but nothing. Rainwater from his lips touched his tongue. He blinked off the crystal drops from his light eyelashes. Eobard stuck his head out the door, getting a better look at the storm. 

“It’s really coming down, huh?” A low rumble of thunder answered him. “You better get inside.”

Then the screen door swung further open and Barry walked in, careful not to brush up against Eobard as he held the door for him.

A chill washed over Barry, making him shiver. The central cooling contrasted greatly against the humid summer air. Barry had wondered a thousand times what kind of place Eobard lived in, but suddenly he found it too intimidating to look beyond his own two feet and the growing puddle underneath him. He could hear Eobard’s footsteps travel across the wide room. Barry stole a glance of Eobard parting his window curtains, observing the silver streets outside. A flash of lightning illuminated the edges of his face, rain still pelting at the glass.

“Hmm. Weather’s too awful to visit the campus grounds. Let’s save it for tomorrow. I could show you my lab downstairs—“Eobard turned around and stopped, looking at Barry. It was the first time they really looked at each other face-to-face since the science fair where they met. Barry thought that Eobard looked a lot different—the missing labcoat, he realized. He never really put much thought of what a top-notch chemistry professor looked like in everyday clothes. Eobard’s shoulders fell in a way that was almost sheepish. “You probably want to get cleaned up, don’t you?”

“Yeah, um—“Barry looked down at his bag. The gray backpack had darkened in hue. It was completely saturated in just one run from the bus stop to Eobard’s house. “My stuff might be wet. I don’t know, really. If you have a towel—“

“Come on,” Eobard said, nodding his head towards the hallway.

Barry followed Eobard with some distance between them, his eyes daring to take in more of the house. The walls had framed certificates and articles, which Barry couldn’t help but smile at. Eobard was really amazing. Barry was still just a high school kid. But after graduating, he planned to go to the same university that Eobard taught at so he could learn under him. Barry never would have even given higher education a thought, despite how much he loved science. He knew that once he was out of foster care, he’d have to focus on getting a job and finding a place to live rather than his college plans, but based on some of the things Eobard suggested in his emails, there was a chance that a scholarship from the university could make it possible for him to go to school.

Barry did notice that Eobard didn’t have many personal photos. He knew that Eobard was unmarried and lived alone, but it seemed strange to have so many accolades and no photos of friends or family. 

Barry wondered if Eobard was alone like him.

Barry had been in many homes, but something about Eobard’s felt familiar and warm, for reasons that Barry couldn’t quite explain. Eobard turned on the lights to the bathroom. Barry walked in, noticing the seashell-shaped soap dish. Something sparked inside of Barry—a wave of nostalgia, brought by the memory of his mother’s seashell collection.

“There’s a towel in that cabinet. Feel free to throw your clothes in that hamper, I’ll wash and dry them. Anything else you can leave in the shower. Let me see if I can find you some clothes.”

Before Barry could fumble out a proper thank you, Eobard was already gone. Barry unzipped his bag, starting to unload his clothing into the hamper. He stopped short of unloading the underwear and blushed hard, wondering what to do. Maybe he’d keep that in his bag and hope it’d dry before tomorrow. He’d die of embarrassment if Eobard saw it, much less touched it. He let the backpack hang on one of the shiny hooks in the shower.

Eobard’s home reminded Barry a lot of his childhood home. Aside from the seashells, Eobard also had a standalone shower, similar to the bathroom connected to Barry’s parents’ room. Barry’s thoughts were interrupted by Eobard’s approaching footsteps. Barry turned in time to catch the balled-up clothes tossed his way, nearly dropping them in the process. 

“They might be big on you. You don’t spend a lot of time running around outside, do you?” Eobard said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a crooked smile.

It was just a bit of teasing. Still, Barry felt embarrassed. He just shook his head in response. He played soccer for two seasons, when he lived with his previous foster family. He liked them. It was a shame he didn’t stay with them long. He never stayed long. He had lived with his current foster family the longest, there in Central City. Hobbies came and went. Friends and family, too. School was the only thing that stayed consistent, so Barry found himself falling deeper into science instead, even if it made him a social outcast from the rest of the kids his age. 

But without science, Barry wouldn’t have met Eobard.

To Barry’s surprise, Eobard didn’t leave. The man leaned against the doorway, watching him. Barry felt uncomfortable dressing in front of a stranger, but Eobard seemed unbothered, so Barry tried to act like it didn’t bother him either. He was being too modest. Too shy and awkward. He didn’t even like undressing in locker rooms, even though guys pulled their shirts off all the time. _Get over yourself. _He tugged off his shirt.

A sudden crack of lightning drew his gaze to the foggy window. He felt a sudden chill, the hairs on his arms standing. He didn’t notice Eobard step into the spot behind him until the man’s hands were already placed on his shoulders. Barry turned his head a fraction, wanting to see Eobard and know the man’s thoughts, but then he stopped himself when he realized he was blushing.

Eobard held him by the shoulders, his grip strong and warm. Barry could feel Eobard’s breath just barely touch him above the nape. The hairs on Barry’s body stood.

“Does the lightning make you nervous, Barry?” Eobard said, voice low and smooth in a way that made Barry want to lean into it.

Barry faltered to respond, his breath caught in his throat, rending him speechless. Then Eobard’s hands smoothed over his raised flesh, reminding Barry what they were talking about. Heart pounding hard, Barry quickly answered.

“No,” he said, at once. Then realizing that wasn’t entirely true, he said, “I mean, it sort of makes me nervous, I guess. I’m just cold, really.”

Eobard’s hands gently pulled away from his body. Barry could still feel the ghost of his touch lingering on his skin. He was flustered, but admittedly missed the attention. It had been a long time since someone had touched him with such affection. He was surprised by how much he missed it, like a person who didn’t know how hungry he was until he smelled a good meal.

“I’ll let you get dried off. I’ll wait in the living room. Find me when you’re done, I can show you around.” Then he was gone and Barry wished he wasn’t.

Barry was still thinking of the touch when he joined Eobard in the living room minutes later. His heart was racing as he followed Eobard, but if it showed, Eobard didn’t seem to notice. He talked normally as he gave Barry a tour. Barry was still reeling over the fact that he was in Eobard’s house.

“You have a grandfather clock,” Barry said, lighting up when he saw one in the upstairs hallway. “We had one in my house.” In his actual house. His childhood home. “They’re really expensive. My dad got his from his dad.”

Barry slowed down, suddenly realizing that that clock could have been an heirloom. Just one of the many things that were taken away from him after his mother was killed. 

“They are expensive. But an old friend of mine had one, so I always wanted one too,” Eobard said.

The rain never did let up. In a way, Barry was grateful. He liked being in Eobard’s home. It was the first time in a long time that Barry felt comfortable being in a stranger’s house. Once they had wasted the entire day talking, Barry loosened up enough to explore the house for himself. 

The lamp in the corner of the expansive living room did little to illuminate the space, but it helped Barry see the bookshelf well enough. He could hear Eobard returning to the room, setting drinks onto the coffee table. 

“If you want to borrow any of them, you can.”

Barry could hear the floorboards behind him creak. He kept his gaze forward, the finger running over the spines of the books coming to a slow pause, landing on an unfamiliar word. 

Laughing at himself, Barry said, “I don’t even think I could read some of these.”

Barry’s laughter swelled into silence. He forced himself to swallow when Eobard reached over his shoulder, taking off the book that Barry had chosen. Barry didn’t turn his head, but his eyes carefully watched the stretch of Eobard’s arm. He could almost feel the warmth that radiated from Eobard as he hovered over Barry.

Barry had quickly discovered that Eobard had this way of always standing close to him, always just close enough for Barry to _notice_. It flustered Barry in ways that he couldn’t explain.

“Empedocles. He was a scientific thinker of Ancient Greece. I think you could read this just fine, once you get the hang of pronouncing the names.” Eobard stood there, flipping through the biographies of Greek thinkers. “Barry, have you heard of eromenos?”

“I’m really not much of a historian,” Barry said. He picked up through conversations that Eobard was very interested in history, which made Barry think that maybe he ought to be too. “But I’d like to learn.”

“In Ancient Greece, close bonds were formed between teachers and students. The mentor was called the erastes, or the ‘lover’, and the student was eromenos, ‘the beloved’. These bonds were almost exclusively between males. The older, active erastes taught the young, passive eromenos all aspects of life, from philosophy to military training to even sexual performance.”

Barry felt heat rising to his ears. His mind immediately drifted to earlier—Eobard’s touch on his wet, naked skin. Barry hesitantly turned, nearly bumping into Eobard. He sought out Eobard’s eyes, which were focused on the flipping pages, eyes dark save for the reflection of lamplight in his irises.

“For example, with Empedocles, his eromenos was Pausanias. Even gods and heroes were in erastes-eromenos relationships, such as Zeus and Ganymede, or Heracles and his nephew Iolaus. To think—someone around your age or younger would be in a sexual relationship with your mentor until marriage. Can you even imagine that?” Suddenly, Eobard glanced up at Barry with a sly smile. “I bet it makes you wish you were born in a different time.”

“What?” Barry said, not sure how to respond to the accusation. Eobard clapped Barry lightly on the shoulder.

“I’m just messing with you, Barry. You take yourself too seriously.”

The book shut with a sound. Eobard placed the book back in its spot on the shelf.

They sat together on the couch—Barry, with an article that Eobard had written, and Eobard with his amber-colored drink. Barry glanced at Eobard’s hands, strong and masculine, wrapped around the perspiring drink glass.

“What is that?” Barry asked.

“Do you want to try?”

“I don’t think I should,” Barry said.

Eobard handed it to him anyways. Perhaps Barry’s curiosity got the best of him, or maybe he just didn’t want to disappoint Eobard, but either way he took the drink. Their hands brushed against one another as the glass was passed. He looked into Eobard’s eyes as if asking for permission, and Eobard looked back into his, this intense interest sparked in his gaze. He was always looking into Barry’s eyes this way, as if Barry was the only being he _could_ see.

The drink went down, burning. Barry could feel the heat of it sinking into his whole body. It was the only nice thing about it. He set the drink down, his face grimacing at the taste, which made Eobard laugh hard. Barry laughed too, his nerves finally seeming to slip away as they laughed together.

Barry stopped, feeling Eobard’s warm hand on his thigh. He glanced down at Eobard’s hand, his breath caught in his throat, nerves swelling in his chest. He didn’t mind the touch. It felt nice. Rather, he was embarrassed and ashamed of his own reaction—he blushed hard, his heart pounding faster, no different than if he were encountering a crush or a pretty girl. Professor Thawne wasn’t either of those, yet his touch felt electric.

Barry tried to pretend not to notice, afraid of how he might act, how he might embarrass himself, but he was hyperaware of the touch. He sank back into the couch, pretending to look at the article. He felt his body stir when Eobard’s thumb stroked back and forth on his inner thigh. Heat prickled on his flesh in response to the touch. Barry let out a shaky breath, his heart now so loud that he could feel it thrumming in his ears.

Eobard’s body was next to his. Barry sat stiffly, wanting nothing more than to lean into his body. Eobard seemed large compared to Barry, who was skinny and still growing. He snuck a glance at Eobard’s arm. He could tell by the muscles and large veins in his forearm that he had a strong body hidden beneath those clothes. It was so unlike Barry’s own body that he felt drawn to it, drawn to this person that he admired so greatly. He felt the heat of Eobard’s body as the man leaned into him. Closer. Close.

Barry almost jolted when Eobard buried his face in the crook of his neck, softly breathing in Barry’s scent. The soft touch of what could only be the man’s lips brushed against his throat. Barry’s eyelids fluttered, squirming in his seat. The blush on his face spread to his whole body.

“Um,” Barry started, then stopped when Eobard mouthed against his skin. Barry felt a shudder rush through his body, his breath stolen from his throat. It took a moment before he could speak again. “Professor, what are you doing?”

It was a silly question. Barry knew what Eobard was doing. But it seemed impossible. Impossible that someone could ever want Barry. Impossible that Eobard, of all people, desired him. 

Eobard’s hands traced across Barry’s arm, the hairs rising wherever the man’s fingertips travelled. Eobard’s hand pushed into Barry’s, taking the article out of his hands.

All the while, Eobard kissed wetly at Barry’s neck, his heated breath fanning the spot as he spoke, “What do you want, Barry?”

Barry’s heart stopped at that.

His first thought was that he wanted a family.

But he wasn’t sure if that’s what Eobard meant. Maybe Eobard was hoping Barry would say that he wanted him, or maybe he wanted him to say that he wanted to go to his university—

“I want to be like you,” Barry confessed after a moment.

He heard a soft breath, almost like laughter. It tickled his skin.

“Is that funny?” Barry asked, his voice just above a whisper.

“If irony is funny, sure,” Eobard said. Before Barry could ask what he meant, Eobard pulled back, looking him in the eye. “I want to be like you, Barry.”

Before Barry could even begin to protest the absurdity of that, Eobard kissed him on the lips. Barry was too stunned to react. Eobard moved quickly, his mouth pressed deeply against his, his body pushing Barry’s into the couch. His tongue slipped in, filling Barry’s mouth, the kiss wet and hot. For the second time that night, the second time in his entire life, Barry tasted alcohol.

Barry didn’t know how to act. How to respond. He had never been kissed before. His whole body was searing hot. He jerked in place when Eobard’s hands stroked his body, large hands running over his sides, smoothing over the soft shirt. Eobard’s tongue stroked against Barry’s own. Barry’s eyes fell shut, senses focused on the way Eobard touched and felt him.

Barry was breathless when Eobard pulled away. Everything was moving so fast. His head was reeling around the idea that he had just kissed an adult man, the very professor he looked up to—

“Wait—“Barry tried, but was cut off by his own gasp when Eobard reached between his legs, palming his erect cock over the borrowed shorts that were too big and loose on his body. Barry’s eyes grew heavy lidded, his hips rolling up to meet Eobard’s touch. He wrapped his hand around Eobard’s strong forearm, knowing he should push him away, knowing they should stop, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

He didn’t realize he was moaning until Eobard kissed him, sealing off his mouth. Eobard was pressed up against his body, circling his hips, rutting against Barry’s leg. Barry’s face burned impossibly hotter. Eobard was hard. Barry had an adult man pressing his erection up against his body. It was so shocking and alarming that it made his stomach twist. He felt hyper aware of Eobard’s heated breaths, each one making Barry’s heart beat faster. He should stop this. He had to. Before they did something they regretted—

Eobard lowered the waistband of Barry’s clothing, exposing his cock to the air. Barry burned with embarrassment. He tried to move his hand to cover himself up, but Eobard grabbed him by the wrist with more force than Barry thought he was capable of, his grip bruisingly strong around Barry’s skinny limb.

“You have no idea how badly I wanted to see you,” Eobard said, this hungry anticipation in his voice that made Barry’s stomach flip. “I knew when I saw you that I should have stayed away.”

The words troubled Barry. Eobard—how long had he desired him like this? It was scary to hear this adult so blatantly admit his desires. Warning bells went off in Barry’s head, but he was almost equally afraid in making Eobard stop. He wanted Eobard. He needed him, in many ways. He was afraid of losing him, afraid of being alone again.

Eobard lowered himself to the ground, his hand wrapped around Barry’s cock. The sensation of naked flesh against naked flesh made Barry’s eyes roll back, his head going fuzzy. No one had ever touched him like this before.

“Your body is so different like this,” Eobard murmured thoughtfully, and Barry wasn’t sure what he meant. Different from when he had last seen him, different than the last photo Barry sent, or—

Eobard wrapped his lips around Barry’s cock. Barry’s lips parted in a silent gasp, his hand digging into the couch. Eobard slid Barry’s cock into his mouth in one go. Barry watched as he was swallowed, a sort of panic rushing through him as he disappeared into Eobard’s mouth. No. No, this shouldn’t have been happening.

Barry bit into his hand, stifling his moans. Eobard’s mouth was impossibly wet and hot. Barry throbbed against his plush tongue. Eobard grabbed onto Barry, thumbs digging into his tender hips to hold him still, bobbing his head on Barry’s cock. Barry cried out openly, voice rising above the rain that still tapped on the house. Eobard’s lips wrapped tightly around Barry’s erection, massaging the shaft with every stroke.

Barry arched up into Eobard’s mouth, his hands tangling in Eobard’s hair. He couldn’t keep his voice down. Heat rushed through his body, pleasure building and building. He had never felt anything like this before. Eobard looked up at him, this dark, hungry look in his eyes that seemed to strike Barry straight in the heart, his pulse skipping. He felt overwhelmed, powerless to Eobard’s expert touch. Eobard’s hands seemed to dig harder into his hips, trapping him. Barry was nervous, scared—and yet that pushed him. He could feel his toes curling, hips weakly pushing into Eobard’s mouth. His voice grew breathless.

“Professor—Professor, please—“

Barry didn’t know what he was asking for, but he stopped talking when heat sank into his groin. He cried out as he came, his cock pushing all the way into Eobard’s mouth. Eobard wrapped his mouth tightly around Barry, suckling on his sensitive cock as he came, swallowing every drop of Barry’s seed. The pleasure was so hot, so intense, that Barry felt his eyes water. He bit down a whimper as his orgasm came down, Eobard’s hot mouth still wrapped around his sensitive cock.

Eobard got back on the couch. His hands seemed inhumanly fast as he unbuckled himself. The zipper teeth made a sound as it came undone. Barry stared in shock at Eobard’s cock, hard and flushed and heavy. Barry knew what Eobard wanted instantly. Curiosity and desire pulled at him, but he was afraid.

“Professor, I don’t—I don’t know if I can—“

Eobard hushed Barry, his hand wrapping around Barry’s nape.

“It’s okay, Barry. I’d only be disappointed if you didn’t try.”

Those words haunted Barry. The idea of disappointing Eobard never even crossed his mind until then, but the thought of it was unbearable. He imagined never talking to Eobard again. He imagined never going to school. He imagined a life where he worked and he was alone for the rest of his life.

Barry leaned over, his arm pressing into Eobard’s thigh for balance. His hands felt cold and sweaty as he leaned in closer, taking Eobard into his hand. Not knowing what to expect, he was surprised by the weight and heat of a grown man’s cock. His heart was beating faster now, nerves threatened to swallow him whole. His lips parted and dread filled him when he realized he couldn’t bring himself to do it—but then Eobard pushed his hips forward, the tip entering Barry’s mouth.

As Eobard plunged in deeper. Barry was overwhelmed by the taste and scent of him. Eobard pulled Barry’s head, dragging him further along, encouraging him to take more.

The corners of Barry’s mouth ached as they stretched to accommodate Eobard’s girth. He felt so full, the tip of Eobard threatening to breach his throat. Eobard thrusted into him, sliding Barry’s head along his cock. A deep, throaty moan made Barry’s body shiver.

“Harder,” Eobard murmured, and Barry sucked harder, lips closed tightly around Eobard’s shaft.

Eobard held Barry’s head down, thrusting deep and hard into Barry’s mouth. Barry choked when he felt the tip stab at his throat, tears springing up. Eobard’s thick, hot cock pulsed inside of Barry’s mouth as he coughed around him.

“That’s it, Barry,” Eobard said, his voice just above a whisper, filled with both admiration and lust. Barry found it hard to think, lost in a sort of trance as Eobard thrusted in and out, in and out. A hand smoothed up Barry’s back, below the shirt. The touch on his bare skin felt so nice that Barry wished he’d never stop, even as his mouth and jaw began to ache. “That’s a good boy.”

_Good boy. _Barry’s mind latched onto that.

Eobard seemed to know exactly how to touch him, how to look at him, how to speak to him. Barry felt drawn to those words in ways that he never imagined. Good boy. He wanted to be a good boy to Eobard. He wanted to be Eobard’s, forever. No more being passed around from home to home, no more being alone.

Barry choked again when Eobard fucked too deep into his mouth, breaching his throat. Barry coughed hard, the sound muffled by Eobard fucking his mouth. Eobard’s cock was coated in his saliva. Barry’s face was hot, tears sprung to his eyes. His neck and back ached from being stooped over and pulled into Eobard’s lap.

Despite his gagging, Eobard didn’t let up. He kept going, thrusting over and over, picking up speed. All Barry could do was lay there with his mouth open, coughing and choking onto Eobard’s cock. He couldn’t breathe. Barry made a move to rise up, just to get comfortable, but then Eobard pushed down hard on the back of his head, forcing his face in place as Eobard fucked him harder, harder.

Barry’s face was repeatedly mashed up against Eobard’s groin. Barry saw nothing but hair and the flex of Eobard’s strong body. Barry could smell his sex, taste it. His senses overwhelmed, his head hazy. Still couldn’t breathe. Eobard’s speed quickens. Barry felt his head rattle, the sounds of his wet and sloppy mouth being fucked filling his ears.

Eobard’s breathing picked up. His moans made Barry feel proud, despite how degraded his body felt.

“Look at me, Barry.”

Eobard held Barry’s face in his hand. Barry did his best to crane his head back, looking up at Eobard with his cock buried in his mouth. Barry choked in the process, hot tears squeezing between his shut eyes. When Barry’s gaze flickered back downwards, Eobard repeated himself.

“Look up at me, Barry. Look.”

Eobard’s breaths grew shorter. Barry did his best to keep still as Eobard thrusted faster, harder into his mouth. Through the movement of their bodies, they maintained eye contact. Eobard pushed Barry’s hair back with his hand, the man’s eyes growing heavy lidded as he climbed his way up to his orgasm, never once tearing away from Barry’s gaze.

“That’s right, Barry. Keep looking at me. I want to see your face.”

It was still storming outside.

Barry stared off into the darkness, his belly knotting with anticipation. Underneath the covers, Eobard stroked Barry’s naked thighs, Barry’s skin rising to the touch. Barry buried his face deeper into Eobard’s pillow, anticipating Eobard’s every touch. He tried to find pleasure in Eobard’s touches and kisses, but all he could think about were Eobard’s words to him earlier that night.

_I knew when I saw you that I should have stayed away._

How long had Eobard thought of him this way? Barry couldn’t escape the feeling of dread in his stomach, his instincts flaring with the same foreboding feeling he had felt when his mother died. This feeling that he needed to run away.

This was a mistake. Eobard was never interested in Barry’s potential. He just wanted to sleep with him. He was going to abandon Barry, just like how Barry had been abandoned by every other adult he had trusted.

Yet Barry couldn’t bring himself to leave.

Barry pulled the pillow to his face, muffling his moans as Eobard ran his hot, wet tongue along his crease. Over and over, Eobard stroked Barry’s entrance with his broad and flat tongue. Barry’s hard cock was pressed against the mattress, throbbing and aching for attention. He circled his hips, trying to get some friction against his aching erection. Eobard held Barry in place, hands spreading the cheeks wide as he worked Barry’s hole with his mouth and tongue.

Eobard moved on the bed. Barry realized it was time even before Eobard flipped him over onto his back. Barry stared up at Eobard. In the darkness, Eobard’s shape was nothing more than a large, looming shadow.

Barry’s breaths grew shallow as his legs were eased apart. He watched as that great shadow fell over him. He could feel Eobard’s hot cock pressing into him. Barry’s anxiety swallowed him whole, dread and panic rushing through him. Stomach twisting, breath swollen his throat, head spinning—

He cried out when Eobard started to push in. A hot, searing pain raced through his body. He felt like he was being split in half. His hands grabbed onto Eobard for balance, his hands seeming small compared to Eobard’s adult, muscular body. When Eobard pressed in again, trying to bury himself in further, a hot, sharp pain shot through Barry’s body. It felt wrong. It hurt.

He couldn’t let this happen.

“Wait—stop—“

But Eobard didn’t stop. In the darkness, he could hear Eobard’s every breath—haggard and shallow. He was excited and his excitement seemed to grow with every inch forward. 

Barry tried to hold in his voice. Tried to just be a good boy and take it. But he felt the pressure and discomfort in his lower body grow. Heat rushed to his face, his eyes burned with tears. He cried out in pain, voice strangled and breaking, as Eobard grabbed him by the hips, gripped hard, and shoved himself the rest of the way in.

“No, please, wait—“

All he got in response was Eobard’s low grunt. Already, his body was moving, thrusting, fucking into Barry. Every movement, his cock buried a little deeper inside. He forced himself through Barry’s body. It was difficult to focus. All Barry could think of was the pain, the strange foreignness of having a person inside of him. Barry twisted underneath, squirming to get away, to get comfortable—

“Professor, you’re going too fast—“

The tears were falling, the pain so great. A flash of lightning from the window illuminated the room in white.

Barry thought he imagined seeing a smile on Eobard’s face, but as soon as the light had come, it had gone, and Eobard’s face flickered back into shadow once again.

Barry stood in the hallway, a towel draped over his shoulders, his hair wet for the second time that night. Following Barry from the shower, from that bathroom with the seashells that reminded Barry of his mother, Eobard watched Barry closely.

From the large window, moonlight gave the objects shape. Barry stared at the face of the grandfather clock, still avoiding direct eye contact with Eobard after what he had done.

“What’s the matter, Barry?” Eobard said gently, and Barry bristled under the touch that stroked across his damp skin.

The question stumped Barry. He didn’t know what was wrong. He didn’t know what he wanted. He couldn’t shake off this feeling that he had done something horribly wrong. That what Eobard had done was dangerous. But then Barry remembered how his loneliness had ebbed in every message they shared. Surely pain was better than being forgotten.

“You said something to me after you kissed me. You said that you knew you should have stayed away from me,” Barry said, pondering over that. His brow furrowed. He shook his head a little. “How long did you feel that way? That you felt that you should have stayed away?”

Silence filled the air. The thunder and lightning had stopped, the rain had slowed to a low hush. Eobard moved in closer. Barry raised his head. Just barely, he could see their reflections in the glass. Eobard leaned his head in, his lips touching the shell of Barry’s ear. 

His image in the clockface eclipsed Barry’s own.

“Oh, Barry,” Eobard said softly. Barry stood there, listening, as Eobard’s voice lowered to an almost harsh whisper. “You have no idea how long I waited for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/lacemonsterbats)
> 
> My Discord: lacemonster#3491


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